Deal or No Deal?
by single girl seeks good pizza
Summary: Arthur is presented with the bargain of a lifetime by a mysterious stranger.  But could his decision do more harm than good? USxUK Warnings: possible character death
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well, I'm back! Anyone miss me? *cricket chirp* Okay fine, be that way. Anyway, I was looking through some free writing prompts on the internet a while ago, and one of them really stood out. All I'll say about it is that it fit England perfectly. That, and I wanted to try my hand at something darker than what I usually write. An author needs a little variety, know what I mean? :)**

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. *hangs self*_

Deal or No Deal?: Chapter One

Arthur Kirkland's hotel room at the Hyatt Regency Jersey City was nothing short of spectacular. The picture window overlooked the river and gorgeous Manhattan skyline across it. Aside from the discarded whiskey bottles in the corner, the suite itself was crisp, modern, and fit for royalty. Not that the impressive environment did anything to lift the spirits of its occupant. The blonde nation was, at the moment, standing on the balcony gazing out at the landscape. He held a bottle of liquor in one hand, and iPod blaring angsty love songs residing in his pocket.

This year, his former colony had gone all out for his birthday celebration. He'd even rented a decent-sized boat for the occasion. There was also a karaoke machine, an endless supply of booze, and a fireworks show scheduled to begin at midnight was the icing on the cake. Speaking of cakes, this year's was rumored to be five layers high and three feet in diameter; plenty of room to hold all two hundred thirty-four candles. Two hundred thirty-four candles to represent two hundred thirty-four years: blissful, optimistic years of independence for the young nation, long and depressing ones for the lonely Arthur Kirkland.

He actually had been invited to the party. It was like any other year: Alfred bounced up to him and pleaded him to come, and as usual Arthur politely declined. He just didn't think he could have fun with everyone else at the saddest time of his year.

The bushy-eyebrowed man let out a string of cuss words when his iPod battery suddenly died out. He shoved the headphones into his pocket with the rest of the device, wondering why he was so surprised. He'd been listening to it for hours on end, after all. Arthur set his bottle down on the ground. He folded his arms on the railing and used them as a headrest. As he stared out at the skyline, he noticed what could only be Alfred's boat passing his hotel. The red-white-and-blue lights and the banner reading "Happy Birthday, America!" were both dead giveaways. Despite the considerable distance, Arthur could still faintly hear the party noises coming from the boat: the music, the laughter, the lively conversation…

"They sound so bloody happy," he grumbled to himself. His ears picked up the sound of someone performing a rendition of Shinedown's "If You Only Knew" on the karaoke machine. He quickly recognized the voice as belonging to Kiku Honda, a.k.a. Japan. The man had a beautiful voice, he had to admit.

"_It's 4:03, and I can't sleep, without you next to me I toss and turn like the sea,"_ the Asian sang. Arthur imagined a plastered Greece trying to grope the singer's butt, and chuckled slightly. Then, as he listened to the words, he realized just how well the song fit him. He said to himself that is he ever met the lyricist, he'd tell him that he, too, felt the pain of being abandoned by a loved one. Whether it was from his raging emotions, the alcohol, the moving song lyrics, Kiku's vocalizing talents, or a mixture of all four, the Briton's eyes began watering. He stared up at the starless sky and glared at whoever it was up there. _Not funny,_ he thought. A single tear rolled down his face, just as a glittery explosion erupted not a hundred yards from where he stood.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Arthur fumed, turning to face the boat. The partygoers lit off another firework. The blonde stormed inside, slammed the glass door behind him, a flopped facedown onto the bed. "Stupid git," he muttered into the down pillow. He laid there for several minutes, the crack of the fireworks only slightly muffled.

Just then, his Samsung E770 buzzed on the bedside table. Arthur reached one arm out, groping for the phone. Lifting his head up, the Briton flipped it open. "NEW TXT MSG: 555-3210" the screen read. He raised a single bushy eyebrow. He didn't know anyone with that number. The blonde pressed the center button, opening the message.

**I've been watching you, Arthur Kirkland**, it said. The nation was shocked for a moment, then realized it must've been Ivan up to his old tricks again. **Leave me the hell alone, Russia**, he replied. The phone buzzed a second time. The new text read, **Meet me for lunch tomorrow. How does Fraunces Tavern at 12:30 sound? It's just business. :)**

By now, Arthur was sure this couldn't possibly be Ivan. This person was way creepier, whoever they were. The Englishman was about to delete the messages, when a third came in. **You really should come; I think you'll like the deal I have for you. ;) **_Oh, please,_ he thought. The blonde put the phone away, turned the lights off, crawled into bed, and tried to sleep. Another loud crack cut through the night, the firework illuminating his room a bright green. "Oh, shut up!" he yelled at the window, and covered his head with a pillow.

* * *

_What the hell am I doing here?_ Arthur thought, staring across the street at his destination. The restaurant wasn't all that interesting in appearance, a simple beige four-story building. The top three floors weren't even part of the so-called tavern. The Englishman sighed, and started across the road towards the building.

Opening the doors, the place was revealed to be dimly lit, with décor similar to that of a run-of-the-mill pub back home. Arthur wasn't surprised, expecting such an environment from a restaurant with the name Fraunces Tavern. He made eye contact with the hostess, who returned his gaze with a wide grin.

"You must be Arthur Kirkand," she greeted cheerfully. The Briton was taken aback slightly, but nodded. "Right this way, sir," the hostess said, not bothering to bring a menu as she led him into the recesses of the dining room. He gave her receding back an odd glance, and followed.

She brought him to the very back of the restaurant, not far from the kitchen. The area was uncomfortably vacant, as opposed to the rest of the crowded tavern. _How queer,_ he thought as they passed another empty table. Arthur noticed the top of a black fedora poking out from the top of a bench, the rest of its wearer concealed by the piece if furniture. As this man was the only sign of life in that part of the room, the blonde assumed he was going to be his mystery lunch companion.

The hostess stopped in front of that very booth, leaving Arthur enough room to slip inside. The Briton did so, and looked across the table at the fedora wearer now facing him. The first thing he noticed about the man was his hair. It was flame red, bright enough that it couldn't possibly be natural. Equally striking were his eyes, a color and sharp gaze that reminded the Englishman of Ludwig's older brother Gilbert. Next, Arthur noticed the man's jet black Armani suit that matched the fedora. _He _does_ have good taste,_ he thought, and remembered the suit he'd given to Alfred when he was still a colony. He sighed. The American had probably burnt it and roasted marshmallows over it by then.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" the hostess asked, whipping out a small notebook and pen.

"We'll have a bottle of White Zinfandel, please," the stranger replied in a dark, smooth voice that made Arthur shudder. As the woman disappeared, he couldn't help but think of his former colony again. Alfred had told him once that White Zinfandel was one of his favorites, as if the teen knew anything about wine. The Englishman smirked at the irony. He snapped out of his fantasy when the man spoke again.

"I don't believe we've formally introduced," he said, casually extending his hand across the table. "I'm Stan Luceph."

"Arthur Kirkland," the blonde replied. He nervously took the man's hand and gave a firm shake. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Luceph."

"Pleased to meet you too, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland."

Arthur felt shivers run down his spine and the blood drain from his face. "H-how the hell did you know?" he stammered.

"Stan" looked at the nation and smirked. "I have my sources," was all he said. The blonde jerked his hand away, shoving both under the table and into his lap. "Don't worry, Arthur. Your secret is safe with me," the redhead reassured, his expression never changing. Arthur only nodded.

"So, about that deal I told you about…" Luceph's statement trailed off into nothing, waiting for a response from the European. Arthur was at a loss for words. He stammered, trying to come up with a reply of any kind. He was saved by the hostess, who had arrived with their wine. She expertly uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses. And as soon as she'd appeared, she was gone once more. The Briton picked up his glass and took a sip. He winced at the flavor. Way too sweet for his taste. _How could that git possibly like this?_ he thought. He painfully swallowed, already feeling queasy.

"Something's been bothering you for a long time, Arthur. Centuries, even," Luceph spoke. Arthur looked at him, perplexed. _Is he bloody psychic or something?_

"A lot of things have. So what?" he sneered. He grimaced as the redhead took a sip of the disgusting pink liquid in his glass.

The man set the glass down and continued. "I'm referring to something specific. Or shall I say some_one._" Arthur's eyebrows jumped up. "You've been thinking about him ever since you arrived. A long time before that, even."

The Briton cursed to himself.

"You're in love, Arthur. You're in love with the United States of America."

The European nearly choked on his breath. Score two Luceph, zero Kirkland. With that, he stood up and reached across the table, balling up his companion's shirt collar inside his fist. "Just who the fuck do you think you are? And where the hell are you getting all this information anyway?" he shouted in the man's face.

Stan's smirk crept even further across his face. "If you want to know so badly, I guess I'll have to tell you." The Briton's glare faltered. "I know the things I know… because I am the Devil, Arthur."

* * *

"_Let the Devil catch you but by a single hair, and you are his forever." _– Gotthold Ephraim Lessing


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, I got an update posted! *has a party* I'm just really hoping that this story doesn't fizzle out like my other attempt at a multi-chaptered fic. That would suck, because I really like this plot bunny. *pets it* Now, go enjoy Chapter 2! And don't forget to review! I'm a poet and don't know it! *cough***

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Although I'm hoping to own a copy of the first season on DVD by September…_

Deal or No Deal?: Chapter Two

"… Because I am the Devil, Arthur."

"Huh? Oh, I see," the nation said flatly. "I tried calling you before, but I got Ivan instead. So, why this all of a sudden?"

Confusion flickered across Luceph's eyes, gone too quickly to be detected by his lunch partner. "Why so calm, Arthur? Most people would've screamed and fled the restaurant by now."

The Briton sneered at the redhead, at ease for the first time that day. "Like I said, I've already tried to summon you, so it's not like I disrespect you or anything. Unlike that git who just uses you as a toy in his cheesy horror movies," he said, rolling his eyes at the last comment for emphasis.

"You say 'git' like it's a pet name, Arthur. You really do have feelings for him, don't you?"

Arthur glared. "Stop being so creepy."

The Devil gave a shrug and a little smile. "I can't help myself."

Their waitress arrived then, introducing herself as Danielle and asking for their orders. Arthur cringed as the demon across from him ordered a rare filet mignon. _How revolting,_ he thought. As the thought passed through his mind, Stan discreetly winked at him. The Briton shivered.

"And for you, sir?"

"Um… fish and chips, please," the blonde stammered. Danielle left, assuring the pair that the food would be out shortly. Arthur returned his attention to the fedora-wearing redhead.

"You know, Arthur? I've actually done a deal with your kind, believe it or not," Luceph said, reclining in his seat.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, the Russian Federation, was he? It was so long ago, I doubt he remembers entirely…" the Devil let out a nostalgic sigh, pulling out a pack of Marlboros. "He was so young and innocent, all he wanted was a lot of land, more than any country in the world," he continued, lighting one of his cigarettes and putting it in his mouth.

"So, he got his wish."

"That he did." Luceph took a long drag from the cigarette, breathing smoke all over the place and earning a few harsh coughs from his companion. "Of course, he had to sacrifice his sanity to get it. And he also became my… secretary, so to speak."

"Secretary? What do you mean by that?" Arthur wondered aloud.

"Well, to answer your earlier question about how the Russian Federation appeared when you called me?" The Briton nodded. "You see, people had been summoning me left and right since the beginning of time, wanting one deal or another. Needless to say, I was tired of it. So, little Ivan agreed to appear in my place whenever anybody summoned. Now, I appear to whomever I wish to bargain with. He got his land, and I got hordes of summoners off my case. You could call it a win-win situation." The Devil grinned, bringing the cigarette to his lips.

_So _that's_ why he showed up…_ Arthur thought.

"Anyway, about our deal?"

"Yes?"

"You love America, am I correct?"

"Of course I do, but the git hates me. He's hated me for over two centuries," the Englishman sneered.

"I could change that, Arthur. All you have to do is give me one thing," Stan offered, running his finger around the rim of his half-empty wineglass.

"My soul, right?" the Briton retorted with a smirk.

"You shouldn't stereotype, Arthur, somebody might get offended." Arthur scoffed. "So, if you agree, Alfred F. Jones is yours forever."

"Forever?" the nation gasped.

"Forever." Luceph gave a slight nod. "All you need to do is become my errand boy."

Arthur couldn't help but snicker. "So, you want me to make you your tea? That's it?" His second round of laughter was cut short when the Devil snapped his fingers, and in front of him materialized a steaming cup of Earl Gray.

"No, not that Arthur," he replied, taking a sip of the tea. "More important things. It'll only be once in a while."

"What kind of 'important things' will I be doing?"

"You'll see…"

The Briton sat there for a few minutes, deep in thought. Take it or leave it? This _was_ the Devil, after all. But, based on Ivan's account, it appeared as though he followed through on his promises. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"What'll it be, Arthur? Deal, or no deal?" Stan inquired.

Arthur looked the Devil right in the eye, and said firmly, "Deal." Luceph gave no reaction for a second, and then his creepiest grin yet spread across his face, rivaling that of the Cheshire cat. The redhead licked his index finger, reached over the table, and pressed it into the side of the Briton's neck.

Instantly, a burning pain shot through Arthur's nervous system, giving him the sensation of being engulfed in flames. He shut his eyes and let out an agonized scream, hoping it would ease the burn. It didn't. Then, as suddenly as it began, the pain ceased. The Briton slowly opened his eyes and looked around. It appeared as though not a soul in the restaurant had noticed the phenomenon. Not a soul. He next turned his gaze to the demon across from him, who for some reason was holding up a hand mirror.

"Go ahead and take a look," Stan instructed, winking. Arthur peered into the mirror and gasped at the sight. Now occupying the side of his neck was a tattoo comprised of the numerals "666" surrounded by several intricate twists and curls. "Don't be too alarmed. I Mark everyone I make an exchange with," the Devil reassured.

"How come I've never seen this on Ivan before, you bastard?" the blonde hissed, clutching his neck.

Luceph winked and said, "Why do you think he wears that scarf?"

"But that was a gift from his sister!"

The Devil gave a small shrug and made an uncharacteristically innocent face. "I confess, I may have given her a little… _push,_" he admitted.

"Wha-"

"Goodbye, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. I will see you again very soon." The Briton was left sitting there flabbergasted as Stan Luceph vanished without a trace.

* * *

Arthur stood in the ticket line at the ferry station, bound for his hotel across the river. He held one and a half orders of leftover food from lunch, and sported a large bandage covering the Mark. He arrived at the front after a half hour of waiting. The Briton was in the middle of ordering when his cell phone erupted in his national anthem. "Excuse me for a moment," he apologized to the clerk, stepped to the side, and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Arthur! What's up?" shrieked a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"The sky, you git."

"Hahaha!—not funny."

Outwardly, the blonde groaned. Inwardly, he felt his heart rate speeding along at a hundred kilometers an hour. "What do you want, Alfred?"

"Well, there's this cool thing I wanted to show you…"

"What kind of 'cool thing?'"

"Not telling! It's a surprise! So, wanna come see?"

"Okay, fine. Where are you?"

"I'm at this really sweet condo at 515 East 72nd, 29D! They even have a pool!"

"That's great, Alfred. See you there," he replied curtly, snapping the phone shut. He returned to the ticket window. "My apologies. Cancel that order," he said, and made a mad dash for the door. Once on the curb, he flagged down a taxi, not missing a beat as he slid inside the one that pulled up. "515 East 72nd Street, and step on it."

"Sure thing," the driver agreed, and the yellow Crown Victoria sped off. Gazing out the window at the passing scenery, Arthur recounted the morning's events. _What am I doing, trusting the Devil?_ he thought. Watching the pedestrians on the sidewalk go by, he for once smiled.

* * *

"_Once you are dancing with the devil, the prettiest capers won't help you." – E.T.A. Hoffman_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait guys, I had writer's block. Yes, already! I just re-read the previous chapters to get the flow back, so I should be fine. And my Devil character? He's so creepy I wanna cry! T_T For anyone who's read Shugo Chara, I'm gonna quote Miki real quick: "My own work scares me. I'm a genius." Reviews make my happy. :)**

_Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue me man!_

Deal or No Deal?: Chapter Three

Arthur Kirkland stood patiently in front of the door to Apartment 29D, giving the oak slab of wood a slow once-over. His clenched fist hovered over the paneling, frozen in position. _It's just Alfred, nothing's going to happen,_ he thought, trying to reassure himself. He rapped on the door twice, and stood there waiting for a response. It wasn't long before he heard the clamoring of clumsy footsteps barreling down the hallway, followed by a slip and a thud against the doorway. Arthur winced, and pried the door open. Lying face-up on the floor was none other than Alfred Jones. The nation looked up at the older blonde, beaming. "Hi, Iggy!"

Arthur just stared down at his former colony, disconcerted. "... Are you okay, Alfred?"

"Yep!" the younger of the pair chirped, jumping up to his feet and standing off to the side, letting his guest inside.

"You sure? It sounded like you hit that door pretty hard," Arthur trailed off. He held his coat out to where the younger man had once stood, expecting him to show proper host etiquette and hang it up for him, but the American had already dashed off into the unknown realms of the apartment.

"Artie, that was nothing! I've had worse"

"I told you not to call me that!" the Briton snapped, slamming the door and storming after the other nation. He abandoned his coat on the nearest sofa, not forgetting to properly fold it and lay it where it was out of the way. Arthur continued off on his quest to... _lightly_ wring the American's neck, confused. _Luceph said he'd be mine forever... wouldn't he act at list a little different if he really loved me?_ The thick-eyebrowed man pushed the thought from his head, trying to focus on the matter at hand: finding the bloody git! He slid around the corner, coming to the great room. It _was_ a nice apartment, he had to admit. He found Alfred sitting at a desk at the bar, facing the kitchen. On the counter was a laptop, which was making odd barking reasons for one reason or another. The screen was facing away from him, so he couldn't tell. Arthur circled around until he was looking over his ex-colony's shoulder.

"God save the queen, what the bloody hell is _that?_" he exclaimed, seeing the animated Newfoundland puppy that was on the screen.

"Oh, that's Lincoln! Isn't he cute?" the sandy-haired teen exclaimed. He clicked on the animal's head and pulled, as if petting him. Arthur's eyebrows rose in interest when the dog barked in delight, and wagged his tail.

"He _is _cute..." the Briton said.

The American clicked a few more pages, introducing two white and brown dogs named Washington and Jefferson. Arthur felt more than a little awkward. seeing those names again. He noticed a fourth "pet icon" on the website, and used it as an opportunity to change the subject. "What's that one?"

"Oh... that's Mr. Muggles," Alfred admitted, clicking on the icon to reveal a Pomeranian with hair that stuck out in all directions, kind of like Arthur's own uncontrollable blonde mane.

"Mr. Muggles? What kind of name is that?" the European snickered.

"It was a dare, okay!"

"Sure..." Arthur nodded, incredulous. Mr. Muggles barked.

After feeding the lion-like canine, Alfred sighed. "I'm bored, you want some food?" he asked, looking up at the former empire.

"Sure, I'll go make us something," Arthur said, heading towards the kitchen. He'd just opened the fridge when he felt something thump into the side of his head. "Ouch, that hurt, you git!" he fumed, picking up the computer mouse that had been flung at him, ready to hurl it back towards the assailant.

"Don't do it, Iggy! My landlord's got a real pet peeve about people setting off smoke alarms while cooking, my downstairs neighbor actually got evicted for that!" a wide-eyed Alfred babbled, frozen in place from throwing electronic devices.

"Honestly Alfred, my cooking isn't _that_ bad," the Briton assured.

A pause. "Actually, it kinda is."

Arthur's eye twitched. "Fine, you want to make something then?"

The American shrugged, walked into the kitchen, and started rummaging through the fridge. Arthur watched him for a few seconds, then darted into the nearest bedroom and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He punched in a number he wouldn't easily forget anytime soon: 555-3210. The phone rang for a bit, while the Briton paced around, treading a pathway in the carpet. After several rings, the one and only Devil picked up. "I figured you'd be calling sometime, Arthur," the smooth-talking voice said.

"Well, I figured you'd say that, Stan," the blond retorted.

Luceph chuckled from the other end of the line. "You have a good sense of humor, I like that. So, what is it you wanted to ask?"

Arthur shivered a little. "You told me Alfred would be 'mine forever,' he's not acting any differently. What in bloody hell is up with that?"

The redhead chuckled again. "Arthur, I told you he'd be yours forever. I never said anything about personality alterations, did I?" he answered, and promptly hung up.

The Briton stood there silently, phone still pressed to his ear. A knock came from the door, causing him to jump a little at the sound. "Iggy! The food's ready!"

"Come in," Arthur called out, quickly shoving the phone into his pocket and sitting on the bed, trying to look natural. The former colony swung the door open and entered, carrying two plates with a slice of pizza on each. The Briton eyed the Italian dish with distaste. "You made pizza?"

"It's good! Here, have some!" Alfred ordered, sitting on the bed and shoving a plate onto the European's lap.

The older nation grumbled, then picked up his slice and took a bite. His mouth watered as soon as he tasted it; at least a million times better than his own cooking, surprisingly enough. Not as good as France's, but then again French food was better than anyone's.

"See? I don't do too bad without your influence!" the American joked, earning a silencing glare from the former empire. He rolled his eyes, shoving the end of the cheese-and-pepperoni concoction into his mouth. Arthur ate his pizza slowly, savoring every bite of the triangular-shaped goodness. In contrast, his former colony might as well have inhaled it. The younger nation sat there bored, waiting for the European to finish.

Eventually, he couldn't take it any more. "Iggy, will you hurry up?"

"Why can't you eat slower, git?" the Briton shot back.

In response, the taller man slid over, resting his head on the older nation's shoulder. "I know this pisses you off, so I'm not gonna move until you finish that pizza."

Arthur was ready to chide him for being even more of a git, only to find that nothing was coming out. All he did was sit there, breathing harder than normal, a slight blush spreading across his face.

"Aww, it's not working... let's see what this does!" the American thought aloud, giving his former caretaker a one-armed hug. The think-browed man's heart skipped a beat or two, and against all logic, he set his food down on the bedside table and leaned in closer.

_I could get used to this,_ he thought calmly to himself. Arthur felt an arm snake around his shoulders, a pair of lips making contact with his already flushed cheekbone.

"So... you wanna have sex?" the sandy-haired teen whispered into the Englishman's ear, out of the blue.

"Wh-what?" Arthur stammered, and turned to glance into the pair of sapphire orbs staring back into his emerald ones.

"You know... do you wanna do the deed? The horizontal tango, the-"

"I get it, Alfred."

The American ceased talking, a rare occurrence. He sat patiently, waiting for an answer.

Thoughts ran through Arthur's mind at a million miles an hour. _Why this all of a sudden? Luceph was telling the truth, wasn't he? What does this mean for our citizens? Does he really mean it? What do I do now? _Eventually, he just stuttered, "I-I have to go," and dashed out the door, unfinished pizza left abandoned.

Alfred stayed where he was, and called out, "S'okay, I won't be going anywhere! Come back anytime!"

The European ignored him, grabbing his coat as he exited the apartment, shot down the hallway into the elevator; into his temporary save haven. He backed up all the way into the corner of the elevator, praying that the ride would end soon and he could go home and sort things out. Suddenly, the phone buzzed, and he jumped up in shock. Arthur reached into hos pocket and looked at the screen: another text from the all-too-familiar number. He opened it. The message contained nothing, except for a simple winking smiley face.

* * *

_"Somehow our devils are never quite what we expect when we meet them face to face." ~Nelson DeMille_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I was originally planning to have a few extra chapters like the last one towards the beginning for Arthur and Alfred to develop their relationship, but with all the plot twists I have planned for this story I figured that they'd feel too "filler-ish." So, on with the plot!**

**PS- Free e-cake to whoever can find the two references in this chapter! (Hint- one is a song, one is a movie)**

**Edit: November 11, 2010: I changed up the wording here and there, just generally made the chapter better.**

**Edit: February 28, 2011: Fixed a line that would create a plot hole later on but didn't realize it earlier. ^^;  
**

_Disclaimer: Still don't own, and I also don't own the Season 1 DVD either. Stupid Border's only has it available online right now, and therefore inaccessible to poor little credit-card-less me._

Deal or No Deal?: Chapter 4

If Arthur Kirkland had learned anything in his centuries of existence, it was that Francis would always be Francis. This month's World Meeting was no different. The nations had gathered around the long table, waiting for the host to arrive and start the conference. The blonde cynic peered around the room, watching the others go about their business. Feliciano was cuddling next to Ludwig, who pretended not to notice. Im Yong Soo groped at Yao's "breasts," getting a reaction the Korean seemed to find amusing.

He then noticed a certain Frenchman's empty chair from across the table, feeling an odd presence behind him that could only belong to said Frenchman. "What is it, frog?" he sneered.

Francis leaned in uncomfortably close to the Briton's ear, and whispered. "You did it with _ton petit Amerique, non?_" he said in a creepily romantic voice rivaling that of an expert pedophile.

Arthur sighed. _Happens every single bloody time anything happens between _anyone_... _he thought, before correcting the flashy pervert. "No, I did nothing with him." The Frenchman smirked and nodded, almost as if he knew how much Arthur wished he had done something, then returned to his seat. The furry-browed man leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his temples, attempting to halt the migraine that was destined to come.

The door flew open, nearly off its hinges, as a certain American idiot made his usual "big, heroic entrance." The sandy blond in question then proceeded to dart around the room, for some reason making a point to say hello to every single nation gathered that day. "Wake up Heracles, you'll miss all the fun! Hey Kiku, I've got the storyboard for the next episode of Heroman finished, think you could animate it later? ... Okay, sounds good! Feliciano! That pizza recipe you gave me was awesome! I'll show you how to make a hamburger sometime, okay?" and so on. "Hey Artie, did you do something different with your eyebrows?" the American asked, suddenly up in the Briton's face.

"Yes, I suddenly decided that they needed to be puny like yours," Arthur retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. _Like your sexy, puny eyebrows-no, don't say that!_ He pushed the thought from his head.

Alfred paused and cocked his head to the side. "Really?" he wondered. "I thought they looked bigger than usual." He continued on, resting his hand on the shorter nation's shoulder for a fraction of a second. The Englishman, in that same fraction of a second, managed to lightly touch the other's fingertips, and at the same time gaze up at those sexy eyebrows. This exchange did not go unnoticed by the Frenchman. The blonde stared across the table at his blushing rival, raising his eyebrows and grinning.

"What are you looking at, frog?" Arthur snapped. Francis just leaned back in his chair, faced the front of the room, and said nothing.

* * *

Back in the UK, British Prime Minister Adam Lang sat down at the dining table, drinking his afternoon Earl Gray and reading the morning's issue of the Daily Telegraph. The politician stared out the window of his beach home in Wales, across the Irish Sea to the barely-visible strip of land in the distance. He took a sip of the tea, enjoying the gorgeous scenery. The man flipped a few pages in the paper, immersing himself in information. As well-informed as he was, he never could have foreseen what happened to him not twenty minutes after his wife Ruth had left to buy groceries.

Bored with the serious articles contained inside the Telegraph, he picked up a nearby copy of the Sun and flipped around, hoping to get an eyeful of Keira Knightley. A sudden click from the front door snapped the peaceful silence in two, leaving a tense and foreboding atmosphere. He hurriedly shoved the Sun inside the sports section of the Telegraph, hoping that Ruth wouldn't catch him in the act of staring at Knightley's chest. After a few moments of unsatisfied anticipation, Lang relaxed and opened the paper to the page he was on before.

From the shadows behind the china cabinet, a dark figure watched the Prime Minister take in the images of British movie stars. A sly grin spread across the figure's face as it felt the weight of a good-sized kitchen knife held in its hand. It slowly tiptoed towards the unsuspecting politician, the poster child of perfect stealth. Standing tall behind the man's hunched back, the figure raised its knife, and thrust downwards.

The man's screams pierced the afternoon sky, as a flock of seagulls fled the beach in terror.

Minutes later, the killer disposed of his victim's body, dragging it out to shore and dropping it off the end of the dock. It returned to the house, greeted by the sound of a door opening and the rustling of shopping bags. The figure walked straight through the crime scene, closing the door behind him. A loaded-down Ruth Lang looked up, meeting the face of her husband.

"How are you doing, honey?" he said softly, cupping his hand behind her head and pressing his lips against hers. The woman dropped her bags, returning the kiss. Unknown to her, or anyone else, the blood of the true Adam Lang lay spilled over the dining furniture, a steak knife, and the July 2010 issue of the Sun.

* * *

Having been already released from the meeting, Kirkland strode out of the boardroom as fast as he could manage without breaking into a run. It was, however, outmatched by the pace of a certain Alfred Jones.

"Hey Iggy! Wanna hang out later?" he asked, quickly catching up with his quarry.

The Briton paused, letting out a sigh of defeat. "Okay, fine. Just keep it a secret from the others. You can do even that, right?"

"Um... I think it's too late for that..." the American answered, indicating the gaggle of small African nations staring at them.

"Alfred, they're just Africans. It's not like anyone ever listens to them," the older country snapped. The group then scurried off, wide-eyed.

"I think you just blew it, Iggy. They're all pissed at you now, and then they're gonna go tell France, and then he'll spill it to everyone else 'cause you know how he is with that kind of stuff..."

"I know, I know!" Arthur rubbed his left eyelid, imagining the possible outcomes of the exchange that had taken place and if he actually followed through with their unmade plans. "Where to?"

"Hmm..." the taller of the pair pondered, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Oh! There's this new bowling place that just op-"

He was cut off by the ringing of the Briton's cell phone. "Bloody hell," Arthur cursed, fumbling for the device. "If it's Stan again I swear I'll jump off a building," he muttered under his breath.

"Who's Stan?"

The shorter blonde was thrown off by the question, but managed to sputter out, "Nobody you know." He pulled out the phone; a text from the Prime Minister. _That's odd, Lang abhors texting,_ he thought as he flipped it open and read the text.

"Well...?" a certain American pressed.

"Bollocks, the boss wants a crisis meeting at his office as soon as possible," Arthur informed the sandy-haired teen.

"Damn, I was looking forward to going to that place," Alfred whined, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Don't worry about it, we'll get to it eventually. Now I have to go catch a bloody plane back to London..." Arthur reassured, then trailed off as he left the American standing there alone, wondering what the hell was going on.

* * *

The Briton quietly opened the door to his boss's office that night, suffering from a horrible case of jet lag. He set his bags down on the floor, having come straight from the airport, and took a seat at the chair facing the Prime Minister's desk.

"Alright, I'm here," he announced.

"Welcome back, Arthur. How was the meeting?" Adam Lang asked.

"We didn't get anything done, as usual," the blonde complained.

Lang chuckled. The nation shot him a confused look. Normally, his boss would've agreed with him and got down to business. "You seem awfully cheerful today," he commented, masking his confusion.

"Excellent, actually. I've been on vacation in Wales, as I'm sure you already knew, Arthur," he answered. The blonde nodded. "I would've stayed a bit longer, but then something came up," he continued.

"Is that why you called me here?" Arthur asked. His suspicions were skyrocketing by the minute. The Prime Minister wasn't sounding like himself.

"It is. I wanted to discuss building an empire with you, Arthur."

The last statement struck a nerve, bringing back all the memories from back then. The power, the wonder, the discovery... the love... everything.

"Wouldn't you like to feel like that again, Arthur?"

The Briton sat there silent, his mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. Then, it hit him. "Who are you?" he asked finally.

"Why, I'm your Prime Minister Adam Lang, Arthur. I thought you knew that."

"You're lying, Luceph," the blonde accused.

In response, the other man shrugged his shoulders, then without warning transformed into the familiar face of the Devil. "You got me," he confessed.

"Thought so. Now what the hell did you do with my boss?" Arthur spat.

"But Arthur, I _am_ your boss now, this Lang fellow would only get in the way now," the redhead answered, trying to soothe the other into submission. "Now, about building an empire..."

"Bloody hell, you're going to make me take over the world aren't you?" the nation said, the obvious sarcasm drenching his words.

"Not yet, Arthur. I just need you to reclaim your former colonies in Africa. And maybe a few extras would be nice," Luceph suggested, but his aura made it painfully clear that refusing would lead to dire consequences.

"A-and if I don't?"

"Look at that Mark on your neck, Arthur. Remember our deal? You're my servant now. Refuse any of my orders or fail to complete them on time, and I can do anything to your little colony I please, whether that's a natural disaster or an accidental explosion, it doesn't matter. Do you understand?" the Demon hissed. Arthur jumped, suprised at the sudden outburst. He nodded, frozen in his chair. Stan Luceph stood up, transformed into the late Prime Minister, and left the office, leaving a panting Briton to collapse on the floor unconsious.

* * *

_"One bad thing about making a __deal_ with the _devil_ is, he always comes to collect." ~Gossip Girl


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Well, I've decided to revive this story. For one, a plot has actually started to form. As in, I'm now planning more than a chapter ahead. :P Second, I got my score back on a math test the 'rents said I wouldn't do well on unless I studied for more than an hour. Let's just say that I now get to laugh in their faces, so I'm in a cocky, inspired mood. Here's your long-awaited chapter. ^_^**

_Disclaimer: The only Hetalia-related things I own are a collection of posters, some pictures cut out from an issue of OtakuUSA, an adorable England paper doll, and an America paperchild I made myself. Nothing else. D:_

Deal or No Deal?: Chapter 5

"So... Somalia, is it?"

The glaring African who sat on the other side of the table nodded, his eyes never breaking contact with Arthur's. "You want me to rejoin you like Eritrea just did," he grunted.

Arthur nodded. "It's not like I dragged you here for no reason. Now, we can do this diplomatically, or I could get violent. Take your pick."

Somalia said nothing for a while, retaining the mean-looking scowl and crossed arms. "Why are you doing this? I'm perfectly fine on my own," he said at last.

"Says the country with a transitional government and a £400 GDP per capita," the Briton shot back, hoping the African wouldn't notice that he dodged the question.

"Okay, you've made your point. But just until I can pull my own weight, got it?" the African grunted.

Arthur slid a treaty out of the manila folder he carried and across the table. "Fine by me," he said.

Somalia grabbed a pen from the canter of the table and began signing the papers. "Still, why are _you_ doing this, and not the pasta-man who also ruled me back then?"

The blond let out a small sigh of relief. _So that's what he meant earlier..._ "I'm doing this because 'pasta-man' can't do shit."

For the first time that day, the African cracked a small smile.

* * *

_"WWHHAAAT?"_

Arthur cringed at the shriek. _I should have known Zimbabwe wouldn't crack so easily,_ he thought_._

"This has to be the fifteenth time in the last eight years you've tried to reclaim me, _at least!_" the feisty, and now very pissed off, African woman spat.

"Did I ever teach you how to count right? I could have sworn this time is the first," the Briton said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I don't care! The answer is still no! Just like last time and all the other times before!" the girl hissed.

"There was a last time?" the blond asked, smirking and raising one eyebrow. Inside, he laughed at how delusional this girl was.

Zimbabwe growled. "Whatever, I'll never become your colony again whether this is the first or hundredth time you've asked me."

"I take it you want to stay the poorest country in the world, then?"

She paused for a moment. _That jerk... _"Yes. Anything's better than having _you _rule me," she snapped. The next thing she knew, the girl was on the ground with her hands held behind her back and Arthur's booted foot pressing into her spine. She struggled, refusing to go down without a fight.

"Give it up, you're mine now," the Briton announced. His prisoner relaxed. _It's all for you, Alfred._

* * *

Arthur returned home several colonies richer, ironically to the same room in which Luceph had first dropped the Empire Bomb on him. Needless to say, the demon posing as his boss was impressed. "Eritrea, Somalia, Kenya, Zimbabwe, _and_ Libya... not bad Arthur, not bad at all," the redhead praised, smiling triumphantly. "Maybe you can take Egypt next? His old boss stepped down and now he's running amok without a government. That can't be good, can it?"

The Briton nodded. Luceph continued listing off potential conquests, Arthur only half listening. _Ten pounds says he'll ask me to take the whole world next._

"... maybe someday we'll rule the world, Arthur. Me, you... even Alfred. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great," the blond replied without really thinking about it. _Luceph, you owe me ten pounds. _He looked around the room, noticing a sword hanging on the wall that hadn't been there before. Something seemed... _off_ about it. _Maybe it's his..._

"... have to go take some papers to Parliament now Arthur, I'll be back a bit," the Devil suddenly announced. He picked up his briefcase, transformed into the late Adam Lang, and left the office, grumbling under his breath.

_Did I hear something about "getting rid of Parliament?" Bloody hell..._ The nation shook his head and told himself he was hallucinating. He looked back to the sword. It looked perfectly ordinary, like any other collectible sword; the unknowing eye would glance over it, deeming it unimportant. However, Arthur wasn't exactly "unknowing."

The blond got up from his seat, then poked his head out of the office door into the rest of the building. He panned left and right, looking for a sign of life: the coast was clear. He ducked back into the office and quietly pulled the door shut. The Briton wasted no time in pulling the sword down to examine it. It was old, no doubt about it. The double-edged blade was wide, about five or six centimeters; bronze, and just a little bit rusty. The hilt and guard were seemingly ordinary, though more ornate than on most swords. Arthur was about to decide it was just a normal sword, until he noticed a small black diamond encrusted on the end of the hilt. _Interesting place to put a jewel..._ He took a closer look at it, finding that it wiggled a little when he touched it. _A button, perhaps? But why would one put a button on the hilt of a sword? And made of a diamond of all things? _He pushed it.

The expanding force knocked the Briton over backwards, and he slammed into to side of the desk. "The hell was that?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his head where he'd hit it. Looking down at his other hand, he discovered that he held the same hilt as before. However, what used to be a rusty blade had been replaced by a menacing black trident. In addition to the three spikes that were already there, smaller spines sprouted form the sides of the weapon, not unlike the extra spikes on a fish hook. The whole thing seemed to glow from the inside, radiating immense power.

Arthur was completely speechless. "Wh... what is this?" He stood up, running one hand gingerly along the staff.

Just then, he heard the faint sound of a car door slamming. Trident still in hand, he made his way over to take a look. Down below, the Prime Minister's limo had pulled into the drive. _He's back._ The Briton hastily fumbled around with the trident, trying to find the tiny black gem on the hilt. "Where are you you little wanker," he muttered. Of course, it was just his luck that the weapon slid out of his hands and clattered to the floor, managing to slice his palm open in the process. He let out a sting of curse words at both the object and his own clumsiness. The wound burned, but is was only a scratch in the scheme of things, so Arthur chose to ignore it and instead focus on erasing the evidence. Using his good hand, he returned the weapon to sword mode and replaced it on its hook, with a lot more grace than before.

_Crisis averted,_ he thought. _Wait a minute..._ The burning sensation felt like it had spread, somehow. He dared himself to look, and felt the blood drain out of his face at the sight. The area around the cut had started to turn black, and was starting to spread across his entire hand, _"Oh, God save the Queen,"_ he said faintly.

The door swung open, and none to soon either. "Arthur, I'm back. ... Oh, you too?" Luceph commented, noticing the nation's injury. "Let me see that." The demon grasped Arthur's hand, and pressed his ring finger against the cut. _"Vigoratus,"_ he whispered, and everything returned to normal.

_Wow. That spell, should be useful,_ the Briton thought, looking at his unscathed palm.

"You know Arthur, if I hadn't done that healing spell on you the toxins in trident would have eventually spread to your heart and killed you. Just thought I'd say," the Devil explained, setting down the briefcase and pulling his desk chair out.

"So, you're saying that it's one scratch and I'm done, even though I'm a nation?" Arthur wondered aloud.

"Yes, even though you're a nation. Believe it or not, you _can_ be killed."

"Hm. I always thought we couldn't die until the country we represent dissolves," the Briton said. "Well, hypothetically, if you were to stab me in the heart with that thing and I died, or something else killed me, what would happen to my population?"

Luceph was silent. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. "I don't know else to tell you this Arthur, but I haven't the slightest idea."

The blond's eyebrows shot up. "Y-you don't? I thought the Devil himself would know something like this."

"How would I know, if a nation had never been outright killed before?"

* * *

_"The Devil made me do it." ~Flip Wilson_


End file.
